Waking Up is Painful

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Waking up is painful—
she said with her hand

on my forehead—rocking
to the rhythm of  my sobbing:

a heave from my pelvis raking my
throat—gravel like fossilized vomit.

This life has never felt warm,
felt safe to you. She, kneeling beside,

holding me, whispered:
poor battered child of war.

 

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